Saturday, March 28, 2015

Thy Will Be Done - Palm Sunday of the Lord's Passion

And they went to a place which was called Gethsemane; and he said to his disciples, "Sit here, while I pray." And he took with him Peter and James and John, and began to be greatly distressed and troubled. And he said to them, "My soul is very sorrowful, even to death; remain here, and watch." And going a little farther, he fell on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. And he said, "Abba, Father, all things are possible to thee; remove this cup from me; yet not what I will, but what thou wilt."

Thy Will Be Done

Into the day I go in a way under the gaze of ordinary light, just everyday life, and treasures in the barn, or in the safe, or in my 401K.

It's time to pray, there's no time to pray, no hour of prayer in this comfortable place.

To my own stuff I cling.

Unyielding, yet I know not why, in my own soul I cry: "Why can't it be my way." I can't give up, give in, or give - "Who is that eating scraps at my door? I want seconds, just give me more. I'm fat and I want more." Unyielding I am to a still, small voice: "Take up your cross, and feed the poor.

To my own stuff I cling.

Why am I so pleased with nothing? This familiar darkness, lost in time, am I lost in space? Is there anyone else out there? This life, well, it's all I've known; don't take anything from me. Count the silver spoons - there are least 30.

To my own stuff I cling.

Someone said, "There's a cross for you and me." But I can't live unless I have my way. As the siren of the serpent goes: "Look and see! You can have it all. Bow down to me, and all this is yours."

To my own stuff I cling.

I've been told, "You can't take it with you!" But I'm not sure. I think I might just beat this racket. A friend has died. He didn't take it with him. Things were left behind. He left other things too, like, things not done, prayers not finished, love not given.

To my own stuff I cling.

Who is that Man I passed today? The smell of spikenard fills the air. Is that my neighbor, I just can't tell? I think I've seen this Man before. I could tell He didn't have much stuff. Poor soul, but I can't be bothered. I'm climbing the ladder 'cause that's all that matters.

To my own stuff I cling.

What a waster! That Man who smells so rich and looks so poor, should have sold that spikenard and dressed to the nines. The air is rich with His aroma, pungent perfume reeks, but this Man has no place to lay his head. It's high time to stop this waste so let's start with this waster.

To my own stuff I cling.

Someone said, "Come meet a Man." I took one look and said, "What a waste. He could have fed the poor with that spikenard oozing from his pores." That Man is a waster if there ever was one. He said today, "To whom much is given, much is required." And I said, "What's mine is mine."

To my own stuff I cling.

I walked by tonight that place of the Skull. Wafting through the olive trees is a familiar smell. What's that poor Man doing up there? Bowed down with weight that I could not see He wept and wailed, and said, "Not my will, but thine be done." I looked and saw three men sleeping, no sweet hour of prayer for these.

Yet, to my own stuff I cling.

Rising from his first hour of prayer, he noticed that I was there. And before I could resist, he hugged me to his breast. This poor Man cried out for my soul. In one brief moment I felt divine, but that can't be, He's only human debris. And then he said, "Ask, and you shall receive." And I said, "Why? What more do I need?

To My own stuff I cling.

Then eyes of blue with tints of heaven peeked into my soul. I felt empty, and emptier more and I was melting beneath his holy gaze. I had not noticed this before, his eyes were fire and lit my soul. "Please, please, I want more. Oh, you poor Man, my poverty redeem!

You are my Lord,

To thine own will I cling."

Amen.

Dennis Hankins is a parishioner at Sacred Heart of Jesus Cathedral, of the Diocese of Knoxville, TN. Prior to uniting with the Catholic Church at the Easter Vigil 2006, Dennis served as a priest in the Charismatic Episcopal Church. E-mail Dennis at: dennishankins@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter: @dshankins or visit him at: www.dennishankins.com